


Down Where It's Tangled and Dark

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Buried Alive, M/M, minus the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:03:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wakes up in the dark with Derek. They're trapped underground. Oh, and Derek is partially naked. It's just peachy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down Where It's Tangled and Dark

“Stiles.”

It cannot possibly be time for school already. Stiles could swear he only went to sleep an hour ago.

“Stiles.”

“Mmff, gimme a minute Dad.”

“ _Stiles_.”

That is so not his father’s voice.

Stiles flails awake and hits his head on something above him. He’s swearing and he can’t fucking see and what the fuck is happening, where the fuck—

“Stiles for the love of god please stop moving.”

“What the fuck?! Am I blind? Where the fuck am I?”

Strong hands catch hold of his arms and pin them to his sides. He notes that his legs haven’t been able to move much and when he tries shifting them another pair of legs grip at them tightly.

“You’re not blind; it’s just dark in here.”

“Derek,” he breathes out. “Derek, right?”

“No, it’s Peter.”

“Mmm no, compassion for the situation is absent, it must be Derek.”

“I’ve been saying your name for fifteen minutes Stiles, _and_ you were snoring into my shoulder. Somehow compassion was way down the list of things I was feeling.”

Stiles contemplates this for a second. “Why was I asleep? Did you start talking about Zen and the Art of Motorcycle—”

“Don’t start.” Derek shifts and Stiles realises his hands are slipping against _skin_.

“Oh my god, why are you naked?”

“I’m not naked,” Derek says almost defensively. “I lost my shirt.”

Stiles snorts. “You never _lose_ your shirt; you actively seek out ways to remove it.”

“Would you like me to find a way to remove your throat from your body?”

“That would just be messy for you though I mean, you wouldn’t want to get blood all over your nice, clean, um, skin.”

“You’re so thoughtful.”

“I try.” Stiles sighs and squints into the darkness. He can barely make out the outline of Derek’s face although he can feel almost every movement he makes. When Derek breathes in Stiles practically rises up off his chest and when he exhales his breath is warm on Stiles’ cheek.

“This is, new,” he says finally, trying not to shift his hips because oh fuck, _awkward_. “Do you know how we got here?”

“Isaac decided it would be hilarious to bury us together in an open grave.”

Stiles doesn’t know if Derek can see him glaring but he hopes he can.

“That’s not funny.”

“I woke up not fifteen minutes before you Stiles, someone grabbed me from behind and when I tried to fight they knocked me out.”

“And this was when you lost your shirt? Do you think someone took it as a trophy? Like, collect a Hale shirt, once you have three you can trade in for a leather jacket?”

“And you say _my_ sense of humour is shit.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know my jokes are like the salt of the earth man. I’m hilarious.”

Derek moves slightly and Stiles tries not to yelp when suddenly his legs are straddling one of Derek’s and he’s only wearing fricking pyjama shorts here. He has no protection at all from feeling _everything_.

“Could you maybe, not move? Like ever.”

“Do you want to get out of here sometime tonight?”

“No, this is my dream evening,” he snaps crossly. “You, me and a dark enclosed space with you missing a shirt.”

“Stop harping on about the shirt or give me yours.”

“What?!” His voice does not squeak, it fucking does _not_. “I’m not giving you my _shirt_.”

“Then shut up about mine.”

“The _lack_ of yours.”

“Stiles, I swear to god—”

“Alright, alright, hey oh my god, should we be talking at all? Like aren’t we going to run out of air trapped in here? I mean what if we’re underground somewhere? What if we’ve been thrown out to sea? What if we’re in a box being sent to space?!”

He doesn’t even need to see Derek’s face to know he’s getting the one eyebrow, _are you insane_? look.

“Why would someone send us to space?”

“I don’t know,” he says, his face flushing up. “Maybe to see if aliens can help with your inability to communicate?”

“They sent you too though so I guess I’m not the only one with problems.”

Stiles glares at him as hard as he can and hopes Derek can _feel_ it.

Derek doesn’t seem affected however and instead slides one of his arms up Stiles’ back, reaching for the ceiling. Stiles tries not to shudder at the sensation and then groans inwardly when Derek’s inner arm pushes against his face.

“Really,” he huffs. “This is ridiculous.”

“Shush.”

“Don’t _shush_ me!”

“Stiles!” Derek uses his free hand to clap it over Stiles’ mouth and Stiles squawks indignantly. He’s squirming all over the place, his feet digging into rough wood beneath him and his knees knocking against Derek’s thighs.

“Gedoffme,” he mumbles through Derek’s hand, and then sticks his tongue out against it for good measure.

Derek whips his hand away and bashes it against the side of the box. “For fuck’s sake, _Stiles_. _You’re_ the one who said we should be careful about conserving air.”

“Oh I’m really sorry I’m not coping particularly well with this situation Derek, maybe next time I’ll bring popcorn and just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Derek mutters something under his breath and then drops his hand from the ceiling finally. “The wood smells familiar, and it’s bearing weight, we’re underground.”

“ _Familiar_ ,” Stiles says incredulously, picking up on the first part of Derek’s sentence to repress the panic over the second part. “And how exactly does wood smell familiar?”

He doesn’t even need light to know Derek is glowering at him but he reaches forward anyway and runs a hand across Derek’s forehead. “Oooh, those are your stage three eyebrows alright.”

Derek bats his hand away, scraping his elbow on the wood as he does so. They really haven’t got much space for manoeuvring.

“See? Not nice when people shove their hands in your face right?”

“I’ll try to contain myself when I next have the urge.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“What exactly are my stage three eyebrows anyway?”

“Means you’re not about to try and break my spine in two but you _are_ thinking about it.”

“You base how close you are to imminent death on my eyebrows?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I just judge it on how close we are actually _to death_.” Stiles wriggles around to try and look at the ceiling himself. “Guess this is a mixture of both.” He cranes his neck and uses the hand not trying to keep most of his weight off Derek to push at the wood himself. “Hmmm.”

Derek makes a pained noise and Stiles whips his head back down. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“ _Derek_.”

“Your throat was just—in my face.”

Stiles wiggles his eyebrows. “Was it tempting your teeth again?”

“You have no idea,” Derek says flatly.

Stiles can feel his arm shaking with the effort of holding him up and he hears Derek sigh before suddenly nudging his elbow making him tumble completely on top of him.

“What the hell?!”

“You were about to have a heart attack.”

“No I wasn’t I was fine!” He hesitates and lifts his chin from where it’s resting on Derek’s shoulder. “Wait, was I?”

“Probably not but you vibrating out of your skin won’t help.”

“Why are you _calm_ Derek? This is the exact opposite of anything you could ever want, plus we might _die_ here. I don’t want to die in my pyjamas until I’ve got the wizened old beard to go with them.”

Derek snorts. “Please don’t grow a beard.”

“I could _so_ pull off a beard man.”

There’s a rough pat to his jaw and then Derek lets out an amused huff. “Good luck with that.”

“I shaved yesterday—I mean earlier, it’s not going to have grown back much yet! Shut _up_. And what the hell is going on? I was in my damn bathroom three hours ago; how are we here now?”

Derek shrugs and Stiles finds his mouth shoved into soft shoulder skin and resists the urge to bite. Because he’s pretty sure Derek’s retaliation move would be to bite his face off and not at all in a sexy way.

It’s been months of Derek throwing all his damn sexiness Stiles’ way; he’s really not to be faulted for thinking about when he’s so suddenly up close and personal with the dude now.

Instead he twists his head and sighs into the slope of Derek’s neck. This is much safer. Totally, one hundred per cent non sexy neck closeness. Stiles does not want to lick it at all.

“Scott will never believe this.”

Derek tenses underneath him and Stiles is about to ask what’s wrong when Derek clears his throat and Stiles feels the rumble right across his chest. It’s suddenly awkwardly too hot everywhere.

“Scott never believes anything we tell him; I don’t see why this would be any different.”

“True, he’d probably ask me if I was just dreaming again.”

“Again?”

“Uh,” Stiles screws up his face in panic. “Yeah you know, we get thrown together so often I kind of end up dreaming about it on repeat. I normally wake up just around the time we’re about to die.” It’s pretty much a twisted version of the truth; Stiles does quite often have nightmares involving one or both of them dying; of not being able to save the pack; of being back in that basement with Gerard; or of being chased by angry dragons _again_ and slipping, falling, and of Derek staying back to distract the dragon and dying for Stiles. Because of Stiles.

He shudders slightly and instinctively squishes his face closer to Derek’s neck.

“Please don’t die for me.”

Derek lets out a noise of surprise and tips his chin so that he can look at Stiles in the darkness. Stiles assumes he can see something at least because he stares for so long Stiles has to screw his eyes up under the weight of his gaze.

“Only if you promise the same for me.”

Stiles snorts. “I don’t plan on intentionally dying for anyone; it just always seems to become a possibility accidentally.”

“Try harder.”

“That’s always what they’re saying about me in school,” he says conversationally. “Though I guess they can’t say that for much longer right?”

Derek hums as if he’s agreeing or maybe he’s not even listening at all.

“I mean it’s not like I can give Bio my full concentration when I’ve got someone texting me about Wendigo sightings at eleven am right?”

“I was just giving you a heads up so you didn’t walk right into it on the way home!” Derek snaps defensively. “I wasn’t telling you to leave school and go on a damn hunt with Allison for it.”

“We needed the bonding time!” Stiles cries indignantly. “And we killed it didn’t we?”

“It nearly took your eye out.”

“Well I guess I’m lucky I’m one of those people that makes scars look sexy.”

As if on instinct Derek runs a finger along the fading scratch down the left side of Stiles’ face. It won’t scar—thank god, Stiles actually really isn’t keen on being one of those people that pulls off scars—but the sensation is nice and he leans into Derek’s hand.

“You suck at keeping safe,” Stiles sighs. “You can’t even avoid being shoved in a box with me. You’re lucky I’m not going far for college or you and Scott would be dead within a month.”

“Did you have some grand master scheme for getting us out of here or should I point out that you’re currently just as bad at staying alive as I am?”

Stiles groans, scrubbing a hand across his face. “We’re way too young to be making light of this.”

“You make light of everything Stiles,” and it’s probably the dark and the fact he can every inflection in Derek’s voice but he thinks he hears fond exasperation, maybe even affection.

“Someone has to be optimistic in the face of all your doom and gloom.”

Derek goes to say something else but bends his knee slightly and Stiles, not for the first time in his life, gets fucking kneed right in the groin.

“Ah _fuck_!”

He goes to scramble away, forgetting his surroundings and ends up bashing his ass against the wood, hands scraping against the grain beneath him and Derek saying his name as he suddenly, awfully, panics.

“Stiles stop.”

“I can’t oh my god, what if we really are stuck in here Derek? What if we fucking die here and I never see my dad again? Scott’ll be arrested for something ridiculous like falling asleep in a chicken coop and Allison’s dad’ll drag her to Norway and Boyd will have to take over the pack which means Erica will basically be in charge and Isaac will cry into his cereal every day and I’ll never get laid oh my god I’m going to die a virgin and—”

Between one word and the next Derek catches his wrists and traps his struggling legs between his own again. Stiles arches against him, pain and stress clouding his senses and Derek snarls and suddenly Stiles is on his _back_ and he literally can’t move. They’re both panting and Stiles refuses to open his eyes.

“Stiles, hey Stiles it’s ok, just breathe.”

“You breathe!” He retorts crossly. “What the hell—did you ninja wolf out on me there?”

“It seemed like the only way to make sure you didn’t knock yourself out.”

“God you weigh a fucking _ton_.”

“Shut up, concentrate on my heartbeat.”

“How is that supposed to help me?”

“Just do it, _focus_.” Derek’s drawing tiny circles with his fingers across Stiles’ palms and he takes a few deep breaths in through his nose, trying to do as he’s told and letting the steady thump of Derek’s heart ground him.

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly as he feels Derek’s breath ghost over his face, the patterns being traced over his hands becoming more intricate, Derek’s thumbs a steady tattoo against his pulse points. He knows a calming strategy when he sees one (or doesn’t ha) and he tries not to let himself get caught up in every swirling emotion, every sensation wrecking through him.

“I’m hot,” he complains finally. “I’m too hot I’m—”

“Take your shirt off,” Derek’s voice is soft, intense in the darkness and Stiles is suddenly feeling a whole different set of sensations.

“But that’s _your_ thing; whatever will you do if you can’t be defined as _the one who takes his shirt off a lot_?”

Derek makes a noise that could qualify as a growl. “Is that the definition in your diary?”

“I haven’t written one of those since I was about eight; I don’t have the patience for it.”

“Just the one in your head then.”

“No, the definition of you in my head is _run Stiles run he’s the one who wants to kill you._ ”

“Stiles I’ve never actually wanted to kill you.”

“Well you’re a very good actor.”

 “The last time I checked, I hadn’t been what you would identify as _mean to you_ in quite a long time.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t want to kill me.”

“Stiles,” Derek exhales sharply and then wraps his fingers slowly around Stiles’ wrists. “I want to do all kinds of things to you; none of them involve you ending up dead.”

Stiles opens his eyes, finally, and though they’re still in total darkness he knows he’s looking right at Derek.

“Really?” He swallows dryly. “You got a whole list?"

“Mm, some of them even involve my teeth.”

“S—some of them?”

“Only if you ask nicely though.”

“I think either this conversation is about to take a sharp left turn or you’re really bad at calming me down.”

“Both.” As if to emphasise his point Derek rocks his hips ever so slowly against Stiles’.

“You have the worst timing,” Stiles groans.

Derek hums again, nosing against Stiles’ cheek. “I think we should probably conserve some air now,” he mutters before sliding over and kissing him.

On the mouth.

Stiles is buried, possibly very deep in the ground and Derek Hale is kissing him.

Whilst _shirtless_.

Stiles is pretty sure his brain combusts. He tries to open his mouth to point out, again, that he has no idea where this has all come from but Derek uses the opportunity to slip his tongue inside and it’s so _fucking_ hot and Stiles is going to _die_.

Death via tongue.

Derek’s kissing him like he’s drowning and Stiles is a fucking anchor.

He pulls his hands from Derek’s grip and slides them up his arms, clutching at his shoulders, drawing him even closer. There’s hot skin that deserves touching everywhere and he trails his hands across Derek’s back, digs his fingers into his ribs and then wraps one around his neck and flattens the other against his shoulder blade. He can feel muscles bunching together as Derek rises up, rolls their hips together and catches his jaw to deepen the kiss.

There’s a brief battle for dominance going on between their tongues and Stiles lets Derek win, appreciates the moan he’s rewarded with as Derek catches his fingers in his hair. He breathes in deeply when Derek pulls away to bite at his neck, his rough stubble leaving a scratchy, delicious tingling against skin as he moves lower and licks at his collarbone.

“Oh my god, oh _fuck_ , yeah, wait!” He goes to sit up and bashes his head on the low ceiling. “Fuck, ow, Derek, Derek _stop_.”

Derek pauses, exhales against his chest and then drops his forehead on Stiles’ shoulder. “Are you trying to kill _me_ now?”

“I meant what I said you know; you have the worst timing.” Stiles pushes his hips forward in order for Derek to feel just how bad his timing is and Derek groans, slides one hand down to palm the front of Stiles’ shorts which, so isn’t helping at all.

This isn’t what he had in mind when he pictured Derek touching his dick for the first time ever; he’d quite like to be able to _see_ it and he says as much.

“But we’re seriously fucked here and I’m not finding out what exactly you have on that list of yours until we’re on a proper bed.”

Derek sighs. “So demanding.”

“Don’t even pretend like you didn’t know that when you stuck your tongue down my throat.”

“You have such a way with words.”

“You know me; the infamous connoisseur of words.”

“Not the way I’d choose to describe you.”

“Sexiest person alive?”

“Maybe not for long.”

Stiles feels his grin deflate. “You are the worst at killing the mood. Wait, did you just agree I’m sexy?”

“If you’re not going to let me kiss you then I’m not answering questions like that.”

“Fine,” he shrugs. “Be that way.”

They lie in silence for five minutes. Then Stiles starts squirming and Derek grabs one of his legs. “Please stop doing that.”

“Oooh does it work for you when I’m all fidgety? Oh my god, is this like a captured prey thing? Like the second we’re in the light and vertical again are you going back to being mean and shoving me into things? I mean not that I’m totally opposed to being shoved into things if you’re going to follow it up with—”

“Stiles.”

“Right, sorry.”

“It’s not a prey thing, oh my god, what is wrong with your brain? It’s a you thing. Now shut up and let me see if I can figure out a way to get us both out of here in one piece.”

Stiles tries not to glow too much at the hidden compliment in there. Then again if he could glow that would totally be useful.

“ _Flower gleam and glow_ …” he starts to sing quietly.

“What are you doing?”

“I was just testing a theory god shut up,” he says flushing and falling silent again.

There’s a thud from somewhere above that even Stiles’ ears pick up and instinctively he clutches at Derek’s arm.

“Dude if it’s someone we don’t wanna see please don’t get shot ok?”

“No one’s getting shot,” Derek growls but his words are a little thicker than usual and Stiles guesses that’s because his fangs are already out.

For a few sickeningly terrifying minutes all they hear are scrapes and banging. Then suddenly there’s an almighty creak and the top of the box is ripped away.

Derek’s up and out of the box in a millisecond, slashing at whoever was standing over them and Stiles curls in on himself trying to block out the light which, is not his best ninja like move but hey he’s been in the dark for hours and the light is fucking painful.

“Derek stop!” It’s Lydia’s voice and Stiles peers through his fingers to see Derek holding Isaac up by the throat and Erica tugging on his arm.

Derek bats her away easily before dropping back down into the box and practically covering Stiles with his body.

“What the hell? Dude relax we _know_ them.”

“What happened?” Derek barks at Isaac without moving an inch and oh hey when Derek’s not yelling at _him_ it’s actually pretty hot.

“We think a rouge hunter tried to keep you out of the way; tried to break the pack down while you were out for the count.”

“Why didn’t he just kill us?”

Isaac shrugs, face morphing back into his sweet human one now Derek is trying to claw his insides out. “Guess he was gonna come back and gloat.”

“Was?”

Erica examines her claws casually. “He’s of a deceased nature now.”

Derek grunts his approval. “Someone tell Argent?”

“Scott and Allison went to do damage control. He said to call as soon as we found you though. He was worried man.”

Isaac chucks a phone at Stiles who lets out a whoop when he catches it. Derek looks at him with fond exasperation.

_“Stiles?”_

“Yeah buddy, you ok?”

_“Yeah we’re fine Stiles, I’m so sorry, are you sure you’re alright?”_

“Fine man, all in one piece.”

_“I was worried Derek might try something stupid and attempt to dig you guys out and break your neck.”_

Derek huffs in the background and mutters something about trust having been earned over nearly three years and Scott being a bitch but Stiles ignores him and grins into the phone. “Oh he tried something stupid alright, but don’t worry, it worked in my favour. Ya know, if you get my drift.”

There’s a pause as Scott whispers something he can’t hear to Allison, followed by her laughing and saying something in return. Scott groans. _“Dude I don’t want to know. Ever. Just promise you’ll leave a sock on the door when we’re at college; there are parts of Derek I just don’t need to see.”_

Derek grabs the phone off him. “Goodbye Scott.”

“Woah hey dude he was only being smart—there really are things he’s better off not seeing. Although I’m never complaining about my sight again,” he says casually leering at Derek.

Derek rolls his eyes and then grabs him round the waist, jumps out of the box and rolls onto the grass with him.

“Sheesh, warn a guy next time,” he says breathlessly.

Above him Derek smirks. “There’s no fun in that.”

Isaac clears his throat and Stiles sighs, running a hand across his face. “Thanks for the rescue and all guys but do you think maybe you could, I don’t know, leave?”

“I’m totally fine staying,” Lydia states looking around; presumably for somewhere to sit.

“Go away.”

“But—”

“Whatever you have on that list of yours anyone watching ever is just, a no,” Stiles informs Derek as he runs a hand through his dusty hair. Revelling in the fact that Derek allows it. “Take me home please, preferably to the shower and then to bed; in that order. And we are _so_ leaving the lights on.”

“Now that sounds like a plan,” Erica says from somewhere.

When Derek grins this time it’s soft and genuine, one Stiles has only seen it a handful of times before and he’s _so_ fucking glad he’s not still stuck in a box in the dark missing it now.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote mini fic again. and now i'm posting it here :)
> 
> also, to anyone and everyone who has commented on my fics or given kudos, thank you, they actually light up my day ♥


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